


When All Else Fails, Read the Directions

by carryokee



Category: Entourage
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-18
Updated: 2008-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:53:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1627751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carryokee/pseuds/carryokee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes all you need to do is read the directions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When All Else Fails, Read the Directions

**Author's Note:**

> justabi - this may not have been exactly what you were hoping for, but I gave it my best shot. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
> As for the directions, they all came from things I found in my house:  
> 1\. Bottle of toilet cleaner.  
> 2\. Package of cough drops.  
> 3\. Bottle of sunscreen.  
> 4\. Can of insect repellent.  
> 5\. Box that held a vase.  
> 6\. & 7\. An old scantron exam.  
> 8\. Box for a coffee table.  
> 9\. Bottle of shower soap.
> 
> Written for justabi

 

 

_1\. Grasp firmly with one hand._

The party had been for a friend of a friend of someone's cousin; Vince couldn't remember their name. Frankly, he wasn't really sure he'd ever known it to begin with. And as usual, he had danced too much, had drunk too much, and had banged some chick in the downstairs bathroom. He couldn't remember her name, either.

Pushing his face into the shower stream, he tried to ignore the thumping in his temples. Cristal. That shit killed him every time.

The bathroom door opened. "Sometime to-fucking-day, Vince." Eric's voice. "You drown in there, or what?"

Vince gritted his teeth. It was Eric's fault he'd drunk too much in the first place. If E hadn't been so busy mapping some blonde's mouth with his tongue last night, Vince wouldn't have felt the need to dull his senses with champagne. "Fuck off, E," he said, taking a step back. The words bounced harshly off the hard angles of the deluxe shower, causing Vince to wince. "I'll be done when I'm done."

"You've got a one o'clock with Ronnie, Vince. And you know he makes you run extra if you're late." Vince could picture the look on E's face: raised eyebrows, the hint of a smirk, the twinkle of laughter in his eyes.

Vince reached out and pulled open the steamed-up shower door, feeling the cooler air of the bathroom hit his skin. He hoped to see Eric's eyes flit across his body--his nicely toned body, thanks to Ronnie--but they didn't. "Yeah? Well, Ronnie can fuck off, too. _I'm_ paying _him_ , remember?" The steam was thick, but Vince could still see he'd been right about E's expression.

"Actually," E said, the hint of a smile widening into a smirk, "the studio's paying him. Which means, hurry the fuck up already, dumbass. 'Cause time is money."

"I think I liked you better when you were slinging dough at Sbarro's, Pizza Boy," Vince said, smiling despite himself, the thump in his temples lessening. Bantering with E always made him feel better.

E flipped him off. "One o'clock, Vince," he said. He started to close the door, then stopped and grinned at Vince through the crack, his eyes quickly flitting down, then back up to Vince's face. "Oh, and Vince? Take care of the wood, man. You wouldn't want Ronnie getting any ideas." Then he closed the door, laughing.

Vince looked down to find his cock standing at attention. Fucking thing; it had a mind of its own. Groaning, Vince slid the shower door closed and turned back into the stream, hoping the hot water would help make his little problem go away. It didn't.

He sighed. It wasn't like he hated jerking off; it was just...

Fuck it. There was nothing to it but to get it over with. He leaned against the wall, palm flat against the tile, and wrapped his hand around his dick, biting into his bottom lip at the pressure.

It didn't take long. And E didn't have to know he was the reason why.

*

_2\. Repeat every two hours or as needed._

Vince pressed "2" on his speed dial for the sixth time in an hour and grinned as he listened to the rings.

"Vince, what the fuck?" E sounded seriously annoyed.

Vince suppressed a laugh. "What's up?"

E made a little sound through the phone. "` _What's up?_ '" He breathed out--a short, harsh sound that Vince knew was E's way of trying to stay calm. "The fucking sky, Vince. The price of gas. And no doubt the goddamn level of your amusement right now."

"Aw, E. Don't be like that." Vince sunk lower into the cushy sofa and traced the tip of his index finger over his fly. He was home alone and horny. "I'm bored."

"Then read a fucking book, Vince. Take up knitting. Rearrange the furniture. I don't give a shit," E said, the irritation obvious in his voice. "I'm busy."

Vince closed his eyes against the sound of E's voice as he popped the button on his jeans and took the zipper pull between his fingers. "Too busy for _me_? I'm hurt, E."

"Too busy _because_ of you, asshole." There was silence on the other end and Vince knew Eric was probably rubbing that spot between his eyebrows the way he always did when he was stressed.

"And I appreciate that. I really do," Vince said, tugging the zipper down, then back up again. "But I need you."

"What for? You can jerk _yourself_ off, Vince."

Vince's eyes flew open and he pulled his hand away from his fly. He knew Eric was just joking, but the words hit a little too close to home. "I-I need you to drive me to the Beverly Center," he said, steering the conversation in a less hazardous direction.

"Call Turtle. He's your fucking driver," E said, saying the word `driver' like it tasted bad.

"Come on, E--"

"No, Vince. _Fuck_. I told you I'm busy. Call Turtle or fucking walk. And lose my number." He hung up.

Vince stared at the phone in his hand for a moment, then pressed END, ignoring the little sinking feeling in his gut. He hadn't really expected Eric to drop everything; all the calls had just been a joke. But he also hadn't expected the harsh edge of anger he'd heard in E's voice, either. Especially directed at him. And he hadn't expected it to hurt so much.

So he decided to take E's advice after all: He read a book. It was small and black and contained the number of a girl with big tits and a mouth like a Dyson.

The fact that she had red hair was just a coincidence.

*

_3\. Apply generously to all exposed areas._

Vince really wasn't that drunk, but Eric really was that pretty. Which was why Vince was pretending to be that drunk: so he would have an excuse to drape himself all over E as the night wore on.

The air was thick with the heavy scent of sweaty bodies, and the manufactured smoke stung Vince's eyes. He turned his head and looked at Eric, who was still nursing the same beer he'd ordered forty-five minutes ago when he realized he'd have to be the one to drive home. Turtle and Johnny, who were legitimately shit-faced, were busy trying to get laid, which left Vince and Eric alone in the booth.

Not that Vince was complaining. "Hey, E," he said, smiling at E's profile, purposely drawing out the last syllable.

E turned his head a little, just enough to give Vince a sideways glance. "Hey, Vince." His eyebrows rose and he let his gaze linger a moment longer before turning his head back to the front and taking a sip of his beer.

Vince draped his arm around Eric's neck and rested his chin on E's shoulder. Speaking directly into E's ear, he slid his palm onto Eric's leg. "Wanna dance?" He let his fingertips trace a line along the top of E's thigh and tried not to smile when he felt the muscles jump beneath them.

Eric turned his head completely to look at Vince, the tip of his nose just brushing Vince's. Vince tilted his head back a little, but kept his hand where it was. He met Eric's eyes and couldn't seem to keep the fingers of his other hand from tracing the pocket of E's shirt. "Whaddya say, E?" he asked when it was obvious Eric wasn't going to say anything. "I'll even let you lead."

E shifted against him and searched Vince's gaze. "You can't be serious."

Vince gave him a crooked smile. "Why not?" He pushed his hand further up Eric's thigh until his fingertips just barely grazed the edge of E's fly. "It'll be fun."

Eric visibly swallowed and pressed his hand to the back of Vince's, stilling its northerly progress. "Fun? Vince, having all my body hairs plucked one at a time would be more fun than trying to explain to Shauna exactly how pictures of you dancing with a guy ended up on the Internet."

Vince was suddenly annoyed and the smile slid from his lips. He sat up, yanking his hand out from under Eric's. "Well, if you won't dance with me," he said, "at least fetch me a fucking drink." He grabbed E's beer off the table and swallowed down the last bit of it. It was warm and bitter, but apparently, it was the closest he was going to get to Eric's lips tonight.

E stared at him, then shrugged off his arm. "What the hell is with you, man?"

"Vodka," Vince said in answer, feeling the buzz of anger beneath his skin. He was acutely aware of Eric's body pressed against his, of his body heat seeping through his clothes, and he cursed the growing tightness in his crotch. "Neat."

"Neat," Eric echoed, tensing. "Sure thing, Vince. Let me just get right on that." He gripped the edge of the table and slid out of the booth, leaning in to glare directly at Vince. "Two words: Fuck. You."

Vince watched as E disappeared into the crowd, then flagged down the nearest waitress and ordered his own fucking drink. Then another. And another. Until he really _was_ that drunk.

The thing was, Vince discovered later as he sat slumped in the passenger's seat gazing at E's profile through hooded eyes, E still _was_ that pretty.

*

_4\. Contents under pressure._

Eric met Melissa at the supermarket. The whole thing was like some sort of nauseatingly cliché romantic comedy movie sequence where they both reached for the same grapefruit and it was love at first contact. She was a nice girl--too nice really, if you asked Vince--who worked as a preschool teacher in a day care center downtown. Very sweet, liked to laugh, and shorter than E--all of which ranked high on E's list of dream girl requirements. And after a month, when Vince saw how E seemed so (goddamn) happy, he grudgingly admitted that she really was the perfect girl for E. In a city full of fake tits, fake smiles, and fake sincerity, it seemed as though Eric had managed to find one of the few genuine people left.

But that didn't mean Vince had to like it. So he did what he did best: he pretended. He smiled his fake smile and oozed false sincerity and assured E he was happy for him when what he really wanted to do was press E against the nearest wall and lick every trace of Melissa out of E's mouth.

Then one month of Eric&Melissa turned into six and Vince discovered he needed more than just a fake smile and a few practiced platitudes to keep himself going. So he found his own Melissas--and okay, so his were more likely to be dancers at Temptations than preschool teachers, who went by names like Electra and Cinnamon and had diamond studs in various parts of their anatomies--and brought them back to the house, purposely fucking them in every place he knew E's Melissa might walk into at any moment. Only it was E who kept walking in on them instead. And the look he got on his face--a mixture of anger, hurt, and disgust--was the exact look Vince had been hoping to see on Melissa's. It was a look he'd selfishly daydreamed about, relishing the subsequent slamming of the door behind her on her way out of E's life. But on E, it hurt, and something twisted painfully in Vince's guts at the sight of it. 

And the worst part was, instead of chasing Melissa out of E's life, he'd only succeeded in chasing E out of his. Not completely, but enough. E moved out, setting up house with Melissa in a cozy little two-bedroom on a tree-lined street in the suburbs. He was still just a phone call away, but it may as well have been a million miles as far as Vince was concerned. 

But he carried on as if nothing had changed. As if he didn't notice the glaring absence of a certain someone on Boys' Night Out. As if he always drank enough to drown out the images he couldn't seem to get out of his head--the ones of red-headed kids and matching Christmas sweaters and picnics packed in the family SUV. The ones with no room for him.

And when E came to him with three velvet boxes, asking for his opinion, he smiled and offered it--not his honest one, the one that had been poised on the tip of his tongue for months, but the one E wanted to hear. _That one_ , he said. _She'll love that one_.

He celebrated by drinking an entire bottle of single malt and throwing up in the pool.

*

_5\. Handle with care._

It got to the point that even Ari stopped busting his balls.

 _Don't upset the movie star_ became the mantra, as if they were all just one wrong word away from a bus back to Queens and lives filled with middle class drudgery: dead end jobs and 30-year fixed-rate mortgages and used Ford Tauruses with car seats in the back.

No one actually said anything, of course, although Vince kept waiting for it. He even kinda hoped for it. Only it never came, 'cause the one person who normally called him on shit, the one person with the balls to tell Vince how it was, was knee-deep in invitations and cake flavors and place settings. He didn't have time to notice that Vince was drunk more often than not, or that he sometimes wore the same clothes for days at a time because he didn't feel like changing, or that he scrunched into the corner of Ari's leather couch as far as he could to eliminate the possibility of touching what he couldn't have.

Well, until one day.

*

_6\. Choose the answer that best fits the question._

"You got thirty seconds to tell me what your fucking problem is before I fucking quit."

E said the words with venom, blue eyes sparking, and the sight was so familiar, so E, Vince couldn't help but smile a little.

"You think this is funny, asshole?" E took a step forward, pushing Vince back against the wall. "I'm deadly fucking serious."

Eric had him cornered in an empty office down the hall from Ari's. There was stuff strewn all over the surface of the desk, as if it had been hastily sorted through. No doubt the office used to belong to someone Ari just canned. If Vince concentrated hard enough, he could probably still hear the sound of Ari's yelling echoing off the walls. Except Eric was standing really close, closer than he'd been in months, and Vince couldn't really concentrate on anything else.

"E..." Vince said, his smile fading.

"'Do you think I don't see it, Vince?" Eric's eyes flashed again and he took a breath, pushing it roughly through his nose, shaking his head. "I mean, I know I've been busy, what with the wedding and everything else, but I'm not fucking blind." A pause. "Besides, I _know_ you. Better than anyone."

Vince wanted to laugh at that, but it wasn't really funny. "E," he said again, barely getting the name out.

"Who is she?"

The suddenness of the question momentarily shocked Vince into silence and he stared back at Eric without blinking. "What?" he finally managed.

"Come off it, Vince. There's only one reason you get like this," Eric said. "So who is she? And if you say Mandy Moore, I'll rip your fucking throat out."

Vince just stared at him, acutely aware of the throbbing of his own pulse and the smell of Eric's aftershave. "Melissa," he whispered, though that wasn't strictly true. It wasn't really Melissa's fault that Vince's heart was broken, although he'd blamed her often enough. But it was the closest thing to the truth he could manage at that moment.

"Melissa." E said her name softly as the color drained from his face. His eyes lost focus for a second, flitting away for a moment before finding their way back to Vince's. "My Melissa?"

Vince swallowed. "E..."

"Melissa," Eric said again and Vince could see E's hands clench into fists at his sides.

"E--"

"You motherfucker," Eric said very deliberately. "If you--"

"E, listen," Vince said, shaking his head, putting his hands up in an appeasing gesture. "Listen to me."

But Eric was backing away, putting space between them. "No, Vince," he said, shaking his head. "Just...no."

Vince moved before he thought, reaching out and grabbing Eric's wrist, grasping it tightly. He felt the thrum of E's pulse beneath his fingers, the warmth of E's skin against his palm...and the sharp impact of E's fist against the side of his face. He stumbled back, eyes watering, fingers slipping from Eric's wrist. He blinked at E and saw the anger darkening his eyes.

"This is it, Vince," E said very quietly, his voice rough. "No more. We're through, do you hear me? Done. Go fuck up someone else's life."

Vince didn't move, didn't even allow himself to touch the bruise he could feel forming beneath his skin as Eric turned towards the door. And as Eric's words slowly sunk in, he knew E meant them. E was done with him.

Unless...

"You've got it wrong, E," Vince said to E's back. "It's not her. It's you." There it was: the truth at last. And the earth hadn't exploded after all. Maybe Eric would decide he was through with Vince anyway, but, well...he had to try.

Except E didn't even stop walking.

*

_7\. If you make a mistake, erase it completely._

So Vince stopped drinking. He paid attention at the meetings Turtle drove him to and read the scripts Ari sent him and went to bed (alone) by eleven every night. And he missed Eric.

He hadn't heard from him in thirty-two days, but who was counting, right?

*

_8\. Some assembly required._

Eric showed up on a Tuesday. He was sitting at the breakfast table, staring into a cup of coffee, when Vince walked into the kitchen. Vince stopped in the doorway and Eric looked up, meeting his eyes across the distance.

And Vince laughed. "What the hell happened to you?"

Eric cracked a small smile and Vince felt something loosen inside his chest. "Melissa's a brown belt," E said simply.

"And what? She ran out of boards?" The bruise around Eric's left eye looked fresh.

But E wasn't smiling anymore and Vince watched as Eric swallowed, as his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "I told her what you said," he finally said.

"What I said?" Vince had said a lot of things; most of which he regretted. He shifted his weight; the sun spilled in from the sliding glass door and the tile felt warm beneath his feet. 

"That day," E said, pushing his mug away and standing, wiping his hands nervously along the seams of his jeans. "At Ari's office."

Vince closed his eyes. He'd tried to forget the memory of Eric walking away, but hadn't quite managed it. "Yeah," he said softly. "About that. Um--"

"She asked me if I felt the same way."

When Vince opened his eyes, Eric was standing less than two feet away. It was the closest they'd been to each other in what felt like forever and more than anything, Vince just wanted to touch him. Above everything else, that was what he missed the most: just being close, having him nearby, knowing he was there.

"What did you say?" Vince felt his lips move, but barely heard the words over the sound of his heart thudding inside his skull.

Eric dipped his head and scratched at his eyebrow with his index finger--a gesture he used to do when he was a kid and was about to do something he was unsure about. He peered up at Vince from beneath his hand. "I told her...I thought..." He dropped his hand and shifted his weight, his shoes scuffing on the tile. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands and decided just to shove them in his pockets as he met Vince's eyes. "...maybe."

*

_9\. Work a small amount into a lather._

The water was at E's back and the way the drops ricocheted off his shoulders and ran down his chest made Vince even harder. He watched impatiently as Eric slowly squirted a dime-sized dollop of shampoo onto his palm and deliberately placed the bottle back on the ledge.

"Jesus, E," Vince gritted through his teeth. "Would you hurry the fuck up? You're killing me here."

But Eric only smiled. "Who said this was for you?" he asked and started lifting his hand towards his hair.

Vince grabbed his wrist, digging his fingertips into the skin underneath. "You put this hand anywhere besides my dick and we're over."

E stepped closer, until Vince's cock was trapped between their bodies. Leaning in, he traced a line across Vince's lower lip with the tip of his tongue. "Sure, Vince," he said against Vince's lips. "Whatever you say."

Vince's grip on Eric's wrist faltered and he opened his mouth to let Eric's tongue past, groaning into E's mouth when he felt warm, shampoo-slicked fingers wrap around his dick. His own hands slid along Eric's wet skin, one finding its place along the base of E's spine, the other curving around the back of E's head to increase the pressure of their kiss.

And no one kissed like Eric.

Vince came in a rush a minute later, pushing his release into Eric's mouth, his ragged breathing mingling with Eric's. He loved this part--the after. Loved sharing the same air and touching Eric's skin. Loved the way Eric always kissed him sweetly before tucking his face into the curve of Vince's neck. Loved just being close. 

The bathroom door opened. "Yo, Vince. We're gonna be late. We got that meeting with Red Bull in forty."

Vince felt Eric smile against his neck and slip his arms around him. "Relax, Turtle," Vince said, sliding his hands to Eric's hips. "They want me, they'll wait."

"Yeah, yeah," Turtle said. "Forty minutes, Vince."

"Forty minutes," Vince said. "Got it." He grinned. "Now fuck off. I'm busy."

"Whatever." The bathroom door closed, then immediately opened up again. "You ain't seen E anywhere, have you? He ain't in his room and Ari keeps calling me looking for him."

Vince pinched E in the side when he felt Eric laughing against him. Eric paid him back by biting his neck. "Hold on," Vince said, fighting to keep the laughter out of his voice. "Let me check behind the shampoo." He picked up the bottle. "Nope. No E." Then he threw the bottle over the shower doors, where it landed with a heavy thud somewhere.

"Ha fucking ha," Turtle said. "If you see him, tell him I'm not his fucking answering service."

"Sure thing, Turtle."

When the door clicked shut, Vince slid the shower door open an inch and peeked out, checking to see that the coast was clear. Then he laughed.

Eric pushed away from him and looked into his face. "So Turtle keeping track of your appointments now?" he asked, a little glint in his eyes. "I guess that means you don't need me, huh?"

Vince smiled. "Don't worry, E," he said, grabbing E's shoulders and walking him to the back wall of the shower. "I've got bigger plans for you." Pressing E against the tile, he leaned in and kissed him, wrapping his hand around E's cock.

Eric jerked his hips against him. "You threw the shampoo away, remember?" he said against Vince's lips.

Vince drew the tip of his tongue along the roof of Eric's mouth, then smiled again. "Then I'll improvise," he said, and dropped to his knees.

The End

 


End file.
